


Lessons

by ThisWasInevitable



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Teachers, Angst with a Happy Ending, Drunken Confessions, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Joseph Stern vs The Mortifying Ordeal of Being Known, M/M, Mutual Pining, Rating will stay T, TAZ-Amnesty, Trans Barclay, Trans Stern, sternclay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-04 09:28:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24967468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThisWasInevitable/pseuds/ThisWasInevitable
Summary: Joseph and Barclay are coworkers at Pacific Coast University in the small town of Kepler, WA. Their once-budding friendship has been quashed by the news that at the end of the year, only one of them will get to keep their job, which fuels a rivalry between them.As the professors fight with each other, and their conflicting feelings, a group of their students hatch their own plan for creating a truce between two men. One that definitely probably maybe won't backfire. They hope.
Relationships: Barclay/Agent Stern (The Adventure Zone)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 101





	1. Lesson One: Watch How You Tread

**Author's Note:**

> A reader requested a Sternclay rival teachers AU.

Academia is a very specific hell. Yes, Stern loves his research, his work, his students; but he misses going out in the evenings or sleeping in on weekends or not feeling like the sword of Damocles is hanging above his job position.

Or maybe he’s just under-caffeinated and can’t find a parking place. 

Pacific Coast University, located in the tiny town of Kepler, is committed to sustainability, which Stern admires, but the location of his condo means he can’t bike or walk to work, and public transit in the tiny town is non-existant. Thus, he is forever fighting for one of the few parking spots on campus. 

He finds a spot close to the social sciences building, walks briskly through the fog and then the double-doors. They’re only two weeks into the spring semester, so he won’t see sun until April at least. It’s silly, disliking the grey weather when he grew up somewhere with snow, but it always makes him feel like the universe is providing a rather on-the-nose backdrop to his emotions. 

At least he’ll be the first in the office, he can start the coffee he likes and finish grading the first papers of the semester. 

Except the lights are already on, and there’s already a cup of coffee on his desk. 

“Which coffee did you use?”

“Good morning to you too.” His office mate, co-instructor, and rival, Barclay, looks over his reading glasses at him, “and I used the french roast.”

“Perfect.” Stern mutters as he sets his bag down; he’ll have to brew a separate pot later. French roast tastes like ink and Barclay insists on brewing it even though Stern put a bag of the kind from Amnesty Lodge (the local coffee shop and restaurant) that he knows they both like in the fridge.

Wordlessly, Barclay points next to the mug, where two packets of sugar are set next to a…

“Is this a silver milk jug?”

“Cream, but yeah. I know you like a lot of it, and I’m trying to clear stuff out of the house.”

_Why not just say I’m prissy or too particular or I think I’m better than everyone-_

“Joe?”

“Hm?” He looks up from stirring in the sugar into his coffee.

“I asked if you’ve seen Indrid’s paper. Reason I’m in early is because I didn’t have his in my stack when I took them home to evaluate last night.”

“You took them home?”

_Fuck_

“Yeah? I had my cooking class until nine. Kinda makes it hard to grade on campus.”

“Oh. Right. Let me look, in case he got in with my section’s papers by mistake.” 

As he flips through the assignments, he watches Barclay set his graded papers in an alphabetical stack. Of course he’s already done. Of course he managed to get these done and teach his cooking class--that everyone raves over--at the campus rec center and look like a fucking poster boy for hunky woodland aesthetics at the same time and hell, he probably rescued some puppies on his way to the office was still here earlier than Stern.

Stern needs to up his game if he ever wants to keep his job. 

He’s been at this school two years, with he and Barclay making up the entirety of the folklore and creative writing department. It’s a small college, after all, designed for students who are either interested in a more one on one schooling approach or don't do well in traditional academic climates. They teach a few separate classes, and team-teach their two-semester long “Science and Myth” course, each taking a section from that class for discussion groups. It lets them use Barclay’s arts background and Stern’s science one, and is a popular choice for students looking to fulfill their writing requirements with a notoriously fun elective course. 

(Not notoriously easy one though, he and Barclay were in complete agreement on that).

For the first year, things had been wonderful. He and Barclay didn’t always see eye to eye, but they got along, and the other man was unfailingly kind and polite. They had debates in class at times, enjoyed sharing new findings or bad essay passages with each other when they were in the office together. They were even becoming friends. They’d even met at the Lodge a few times over the summer for lunch or coffee, and he was increasingly charmed by the other man. Barclay seemed to feel the same way about him.

Then, right before the fall semester, the head of the social sciences and arts department explained he would be cutting the two positions down to one. Either Stern or Barclay would be the last man standing, their fate in many ways decided by the student reviews of their courses.

It changed things overnight. 

The debates became borderline arguments. The coffee dates ceased. 

“Here it is. It got into my stack by accident.” Stern pulls out the creased paper with the name (as always) written in red.

“Thanks, Joe.”

Barclay is still the only person allowed to call him “Joe,” though. It never comes out like someone forcing familiarity or ignoring his desire to go by his full first name. It comes out in that soft baritone and he feels seen, feels at home. 

But if he wants his home to stay where it is, he has to do better than the voice’s owner.

Barclay chuckles, “Think I know how it got into your pile.” He pulls Indrid’s paper free from the one it’s paperclipped to, handing the second paper back to Stern, “it was with Duck’s.”

“Of course it was. I’m sort of glad they’re in separate sections, I’m not sure they’d ever focus on anything but each other.”

“Eh, as long as they don’t make-out in class, I think we’re good. You’re only young and in love once.”

“Must be nice.” Stern murmurs, sipping his coffee. He forgot that with the cream and sugar, it actually tastes decent. 

“Do I sense some jealousy there?” Barclay raises an eyebrow with a smirk.

“Pfft, you couldn’t pay me to be twenty-one again.”

“I meant about the second part. You haven’t dated anyone since you moved here.”

“You’re one to talk, you’re as single as I am.”

“Never said I wasn’t.” Barclay looks back down at Indrid’s paper, pen making marks and comments as he reads. 

“And I’ll have you know I’m very busy, so dating just doesn’t make any sense right now.”

“Joe, we have the same job, and we both do extra shit on top of it, and even _I’ve_ had time for dates.”

“Maybe I put more effort in. And you have? When?”

Barclay shrugs, “Over winter break. One guy I met in the Lodge, another at the Hornets Nest. Neither got beyond a date, and one guy peaced-out when he found out I was trans.”

“Prick.” Stern says immediately and Barclay laughs again.

“Yeah, he was. And that’s why he never got to see my collection of ‘em.”

Stern laughs at the image, has an instant of meeting brown eyes that glint with gentle mirth and remembering how things used to be. 

Then the present smacks him upside the head, and he turns back to his papers. 

“Well, I wish you the best in your romantic pursuits, but I intend to keep my eyes on the prize.”

A resigned sigh and a “whatever you say, Joe” as Barclay pushes away from the table, returning a moment later with the carafe to refill his coffee. And Stern’s as well. 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------

He’s sitting on a bench, reading, as Barclay’s Thursday discussion section gets out, waiting for the room to clear so he can go in and set up for his University Writing Project course. 

Stern can hear Barclay’s rumbling laugh as the class exits, and catches the tail-end of whatever joke he said to Jake and Dani, two of the students. He’s so good at connecting with them. He connects with everyone easily, in his quiet, unassuming way. The students may respect Stern, but they love Barclay. Barclay is a west coaster, like many of them, and happy to chat with them (or, more often, listen to them) during office hours. He usually bikes or walks to campus, looks totally at home in his plaid shirts and jeans. He clearly belongs here. 

“That’s the new _Agent X_ , right?” Barclay is standing over him, hand in the pocket of his short jacket. 

“Yes.” He smiles. Books are one of the safe spots in conversation for them.

“Shit, I’ve been trying to get it and it’s backordered.”

“I ordered it months ago, that’s the only reason I got it.” Stern looks at the fifty pages he has left, “do you want to borrow it when I’m done?”

“That’d be great.” Barclay grins, “you know where to find me to hand it off.”

Stern watches him walk out of the building, annoyed with his eyes for wanting to linger on broad shoulders and a very nice ass. Annoyed with his heart for urging him to leave a note along with the book when he eventually sets it on Barclay’s desk. 

This would all be so much easier if he wasn’t hopelessly in love with him.  
\------------------------------------------------------------

“.....This has led a number of people to believe that the film _Species_ is in many ways responsible for the start of the modern Chupacabra. Now, can anyone tell me what social phenomenon this matches?”

A half-dozen hands shoot up. From his spot at the side of the room, Barclay smiles. He’s never known a lecturer who could hold attention the way Stern does. The man excels at getting their students engaged, at explaining things in a way that helps concepts stick in their brains. 

He’s also never known someone so adept at dealing with bureaucratic bullshit.

_“Anyway, that’s, um, that’s why that assignment was late.” Aubrey Little, one of their students and wearer of the worlds most pin-covered denim vest, glances at Stern nervously._

_“I see. You said you have an ADHD diagnosis, how long have you had that?”_

_“Since, um, since eleventh grade.”_

_“That’s odd” Stern taps his keyboard, “there’s no accommodations listed in your student file.”_

_“Oh, yeah, um, I tried to set them up my first year here and I could never get past, like, the first round of forms and then there were these random deadlines and then I just felt, I dunno, I felt kinda silly asking for them when I’d already made it a year.”_

_Stern grabs a mothman shaped post-it, writes down a name and contact information, “This is the who to talk to. Janelle is the best person at Student Services when it comes to helping students get what they need to do well here. I’d set a reminder in your phone now to visit her during those hours, in case the post-it gets lost.”_

_Aubrey is already typing on her phone, “Awesome, thank you so much! And, ummmmm-”_

_Stern smiles, small but reassuring, “and yes, you can have an extension to finish that assignment.”_

That’s not the only time he’s seen Stern do that. He’s even watched him advocate for their students to their boss, someone Barclay remains a bit skittish of. 

Yeah, Barclay needs to up his game if he wants to keep his job. 

Stern is polished and tidy, black hair always slicked back and slacks always well-pressed. Barclay feels like a too-large mountain man standing next to him, in spite of the fact Stern is nearly his height. He’s hyper-organized, determined, and intelligent. He also once talked for a half hour, uninterrupted, about the finer points of Bigfoot “hunting” shows while he and Barclay were out for coffee, and Barclay is certain he watched him with a goofy smile the entire time. 

They haven’t gone out for coffee since the summer. Barclay wishes he could pretend he didn’t know why. But he and Stern clearly came to the same conclusion; it was lose the budding friendship, or lose the job. 

So he focuses on his work, ignores the way Stern’s face reminds him of every movie star he ever lusted after. Ignores how often he thinks about inviting the other man over to binge _Twin Peaks_ or asking if he’d like to join Barclay some afternoon so they could bake and talk to their hearts content. 

Barclay spent so many years without a real home, and jobs in Kepler are hard to come by. He has people who are like family to him here. No matter how he feels about his coworker, he’ll do whatever it takes to hold onto the home he’s made for himself. 

This would all be so much easier if he wasn’t hopelessly in love with him.

\-------------------------------------------------

Stern checks his grocery basket for the third time; several boxes of doughnuts, those little “Cutie” oranges (tangerines? He can never remember), individual sun chip bags (Harvest Cheddar, the objectively best flavor), and water in case anyone forgets. Yes, it’s grey and foggy, but hydration is still important. 

There, that should be an optimal mix of snacks for the field trip. He and Barclay are taking them out into the sound to see the locations of famous sea monster sightings (sightings of Keppie, Kepler’s very own cryptid, as the tourism board has labeled it) and talk about the local wildlife and natural phenomena that could also explain the stories. 

When he reaches the dock, their class is huddled together. He spots Duck sheltering Indrid in his jacket, Aubrey and her girlfriend, Dani, cuddled up on a bench, and Hollis and their boyfriend, Jake, with their hands stuffed in each other’s pockets for warmth. 

True, plenty of his students aren’t paired off, but his eyes keep drifting back to those six. Maybe Barclay is right. Maybe he is jealous. 

“Ready to heard some cats?”

“LORDjesus, don’t sneak up on me like that.”

He gets an amused look in response, “Kinda assumed you heard me coming. Got pretty big feet.” He lifts one, booted foot, “See?”

_Don’t make the obvious joke, don’t make the obvious joke, don’t make the-_

“Anyway, sorry for scaring you.” He adjusts his beanie and shifts the large canvas bag he has on his shoulder, “c’mon, let’s go monster hunting.”

“Just promise me there won’t be any night vision cameras.” Stern says, Barclay’s calm demeanor making it all too easy to bring up an old in-joke.

“Scouts honor.” Barclay winks at him, and heads down the road. 

Arlo Thacker, a friend of Barclay’s, is waiting to help load them onto the boat. Once everyone is aboard and briefed on proper safety procedure, they’re off. Barclay starts by discussing the indigenous legends of the area and the ways they influenced white colonizers' understanding of the land and it’s creatures. Then Stern polls the group to see what they know about Keppie. By the time they reach the first location, the students are already discussing possible explanations, with breaks the admire the wildlife (Duck in particular excels at this, though Barclay has to gently cut him off once or twice when he goes off on nature-related tangents). 

Stern is thoroughly enjoying himself, finds it easier than normal to joke with his students and with Barclay. He even laughs when the group nearly slides down the deck when he announces it’s time for a lunch break in the small cabin. 

He’s setting out the snacks he brought when “ooohs” of delight echo through the cozy space. Turning, he finds Barclay unloading a giant tupperware container of cookies and…

“Did you bring an entire cake?” 

“Yep. I, uh, I’m testing out some new recipes, wanted to see what people thought.”

“Woohoo! We’re guinea pigs.” Aubrey shouts, making Dani laugh.

Of course Barclay would go the extra mile today too, making Stern look lazy by comparison.

“Oh hell yeah, SunChips.” Duck grabs a bag, tossing another to Dani, “Thanks, Joseph.”

“You want a slice?” Barclay holds up a paper plate, “it’s uh, it’s raspberry and chocolate.”

His favorite, but he doubts Barclay knows that.

“Thank you.” He takes the plate, stabbing the cake to get his first bite.

It’s delicious, because of course it is.

He stews about it the rest of the day. He knows better, does his best to keep his professionalism intact. But all the same the though worms it’s way under his skin and stays there, wriggling, until something grabs it and yanks it out. 

Because the universe is in "fuck you" sort of mood, it happens to be Barclay who does so. 

“You okay Joe? Seemed a little, uh, tense on the way back.”

“I’m fine, Barclay, thank you for asking. Just felt a little sick.”

Barclay makes a sympathetic noise, holds out his hand in what is clearly an offer to carry Stern’s things off the boat for him. Stern demurs in what he hopes is polite way.

“Oh shit, did you get seasick?” Barclay asks as they touch down on the pier, “I’ve got some tea in our office that sometimes helps with that.”

“No, it’s fine.”

“Sprite can help too, I can grab some from the general store after we load the car if you want.”

“Barclay, it’s _fine_.”

“I’m just trying to help.”

“Help? Help how?” He hisses, hoping the students can’t hear or, if they can, are too preoccupied with each other, their phones, or getting into their cars to care, “help by once again going out of your way to show me up?”

“What? Joe, I have not fucking idea what you’re talking about.” Confused hurt flashes across his face as they keep walking.

“The food! You couldn’t just get something from the store, you had to make it yourself so they’d all love you.”

“I like cooking, you _know_ that. And it’s nice to give something homemade to kids who live off ramen half the time.”

“Right, because you clearly care about them while I don’t.”

“I never said that.” Barclay growls, frustrated, “fuck, Joe, what kind of guy do you think I am?”

“I, I think you’re a-”

His words are replaced by saltwater as he steps off the pier, too caught up in their argument to notice it narrowing. 

He sits up, shivering and startled, to a clamor. 

“You okay dude?”

“Ow, that looked like it hurt.”

“Here, lemme help you up. ‘Drid, can you grab his bag?” Duck, kneeling on the worn wood, holds out his hand, helping Stern stand while Indrid uses his long limbs to fish his bag out of the shallow water. 

“I’m alright, everyone, just, uh, a bit embarrassed that I didn’t notice where I was going.” He climbs back onto the dock.

“Jake walked into a tree once.” Aubrey says helpfully. Jake nods without a trace of shame. 

“It seems your waterproof satchel was a fortuitous choice.” Indrid holds out his bag, and he’s relieved to see none of the pockets were open when he fell, meaning everything (including his phone) is still dry.

“Well, on that damp note, I’ll see everyone on Tuesday. Thank you all for coming out today, I know it was an early start.” He waves goodbye, gets a chorus of “byes” and flurry of handwaves in return. And makes it all the way to his car before he realizes he has to drive home soaking wet. 

“Fuck.” He mutters, digging his keys out of his pocket. 

“Here.” A large, dark blue hoodie appears to his left, “I always bring a spare in case I get splashed or, uh, fall overboard.” 

Even as he holds out the garment, Barclay won’t meet his eyes. Stern takes it, shame stinging his chest. 

“Thank you, Barclay. And I’m, um, I’m sorry for what I said earlier. Honestly, this feels like payback.” He gestures to the water on his clothes.

“Then consider the sweatshirt an apology accepted?” Barclay sounds oddly hopeful for someone who has every right to be angry with him.

“Okay.” He replies, feeling increasingly exposed in the windy parking lot, “I’ll, um, I’ll see you Monday.”

“See you then. Drive safe, Joe.”

He watches Barclay grow smaller and smaller in the mirror of his parked car before stripping off his soaked tops layers and pulling on the hoodie. It reads, “The Mystery Spot” and he smiles at the image of Barclay thoroughly enjoying that tourist trap. He’s probably an excellent paranormal tourism companion.

When he gets home, he has every intention of changing into a new set of clothes, maybe doing some grocery shopping or cleaning. Instead, he trades his jeans for his bigfoot pajama pants, climbs into bed, and pulls the hood of the sweatshirt up around his head, inhaling the ghosts of pine tar soap and laundry detergent, and dreaming of what might have been.


	2. Lesson Two: Know Your Limits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aubrey plans. Barclay argues. Stern takes a sip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content note: Stern gets fairly drunk, as he drinks when he's nervous and loses track of how much he's had.

“I hate to interrupt you, Barclay, but at least two of those sightings remain credible.”

Duck, along with everyone else, turns to look at Stern as he plucks the slide clicker from Barclay’s hand. 

“This photo doesn’t match with the more common descriptions of Ogopogo, meaning it’s unlikely to be the result of someone seeing what they were primed to see, and a multitude of experts have been unable to identify the creature in the image.”

“That’s assuming it is a creature, and not a log like in the Massey photos of Champ.”

“Honestly, Barclay, why are you so quick to dismiss it?”

“Because Ogopogo is a prime example of white people fundamentally misunderstanding indigenous mythology and faith practices.”

Barclay sounds actually annoyed, which is still fucking weird to hear. Beside Duck, Indrid scribbles something in his notebook before turning it so Aubrey and Dani, sitting behind them, can see it. Aubrey nods and Indrid quickly covers the words over with pen-marks. 

“....Doesn’t mean the two truths can’t coexist.”

“Joe, there is nothing to suggest that it moved when that photo was taken, which means it could easily-”

“Be a log, yes, agreed, but you need to open-minded-”

“I _am_ open minded, that doesn’t mean-”

“Uh, guys?” Aubrey raises her hand and, when that fails to get a reaction, Duck puts his fingers in his mouth and whistles. Both professors stop, re-notice the class watching them.

“It’s two.” Aubrey points to the clock.

“Right, uh, good talk today everyone. Try to get some reading done and we’ll see you on Thursday.” Barclay says over the din of everyone packing up at once. 

Duck leaves the building, only for Indrid to link their arms and steer him towards the student union. 

“‘Drid, don’t you have class soon?”

“In a half hour, but that’s more than enough time for our meeting.” They find Aubrey and Dani waiting at a table. Jake sets a coffee cup down in front of Hollis before sitting on the arm of their chair.

“O-kay, is this about-”

“Joseph and Barclay, yes.” Indrid tugs him down into the large chair with him. 

“The arguing’s definitely gotten worse, right?” 

They all nod in agreement with Dani’s question.

“Like, I dunno about you, but it’s a bummer when they argue. It makes me, like, super stressed.” Jake adds, Hollis patting his hand soothingly. 

“Yeah, ain’t my favorite neither. Half the time it seems like they agree and are just arguin to argue. And I had Barclay for a writing class last year and he and Joseph seemed to get on real well from what I saw in their office.”

“Exactly. Which is why I suspect there is something interpersonal at play.” Indrid taps his pen on the table as he thinks.

“That means if we can just figure out what it is we can, like, get them to stop arguing, right?” Aubrey is digging through her backpack, tossing pens, papers, and snacks onto the table. 

“We just need ‘em to remember that they got way more in common than they do different.”

“Yep, which is why we’re going to--ah, c’mon, where is it--set them up on a date.”

“Oooh, intriguing.” Indrid grins.

“Not a date-date” Dani adds, “a friend-date.”

“AHA!” Aubrey slams a paper down on the table, and Duck slides it over to read it.

“Come to the world famous Cryptonomica at 7 pm on March 12th for a night of libations, delicacies, and wonders. 21+. You think sendin’ ‘em to Ned Chicane will help?”

“I suppose it may give them a common enemy.” Indrid muses. 

“Nope! This cutie got the scoop from Barclay before discussion section last week that he’s helping with the food. And that he’s going to be there. If he and Stern get a night out somewhere that’s all about a thing they both like, they’ll have to get along.” Aubrey kisses Dani’s cheek.

“So what, we chuck Stern into a car blindfolded and drop him there?” Hollis raises a skeptical eyebrow. 

“Nothing so drastic, I think. Our best bet may be to just leave this where he sees it and hope it catches his eye.” Indrid shrugs, “and if that fails, then we escalate to blindfolds and backseats.”

“Indrid.”

“Don’t worry, love, I’m kidding. Mostly.”

Duck picks up the paper, “Y’know, think I got the perfect place to put this.”

\----------------------------------------------------------------

Stern steps out of the car. Before him, the Cryptonomic looks even more garish than usual. The flashing, neon question mark sends light bouncing off the fog, and the Bigfoot and Mothman statues out front are draped in rainbow lights. 

He wants to be part of Kepler. He wants to be less lonely. He wants to go to something that sounds genuinely fun to him. For all it’s silliness and chicanery, he does like the museum; it reminds him of the roadside attractions of his youth. 

Entering the faux log cabin, he pays Kirby, the assistant, his cover charge. The first thing he spots is the table of food and, standing next to it, a very familiar figure. Barclay is chatting, drink in hand, smiling in that way that makes Stern’s heart do frustrating skips of its beat.

Maybe he should go.

“Joseph, nice to see you again, dear boy! It’s been too long.”

“Nice to see you too, Ned.”

“I was hoping you’d come tonight, we have several new exhibits you may enjoy, including bigfoot footage that can only be viewed here.”

“Ned, please tell me it’s not another video of you in a Chewbacca costume.”

“He shelled out for a Bigfoot one this time.” 

He turns, smiles back instantly when he finds Barclay smiling down at him.

“Nonsense, it’s the genuine article!”

“Just make Boyd wear it next time, okay? He’s closer to the reported size.”

“Couldn’t find a costume that fit.” Ned grumbles. Stern laughs, taking the glass that Barclay offers him as Ned heads off in search of new schmoozing targets. 

They trade an amused look and then, at the same instant, remember that Thursday’s lecture barely avoided turning into another argument.

“I, um, didn’t realize you’d be here.” Stern sips his drink anxiously, switches to full-on belting it back when Barclay’s face falls.

“Yeah, uh, I did most of the food. The Lodge was swamped with a big reservation tonight, so I stepped up to help here.”

“I imagine it’ll be delicious then. Everyone loves your cooking.”

Barclay gives him a tight smile, recognizing the bitterness at the center of the compliment, “I do my best. Drinks are all Boyd though, I don’t have much of a knack for cocktails.”

“It was good.” Stern keeps his eyes firmly on the empty glass, “Maybe I’ll get another and then go look at the Batsquatch exhibit.”

(It’s in the back display hall, making it the furthest away from Barclay).

A large hand catches his shoulder before he can move, “Joe, wait a minute. Can we just...can we call a truce for tonight? I, I was so torn because I was hoping to catch a break from you by being here. But at the same time, I was really hoping you’d come, because I know you like stuff like this and I thought it’d be fun to talk with you. Y’know, poke holes in the exhibits and tease Ned and stuff like that.”

Stern’s certain the look on his face is incomprehensible, because he has no fucking idea how to react to that admission.

“Sorry, forget it, enjoy the party.”

“Truce.” Stern blurts out, “Yes, truce, let’s do that.”

Barclay looks relieved, holds out his hand, “shake on it?”

Stern takes his hand, shakes, and fights the urge to hold it for the rest of the night. 

They grab new drinks, turn their attentions to the recently redone Keppie display. 

“I think that’s a deer.” Barclay peers at one of the photos. Stern leans in so they’re nearly cheek to cheek to take a look.

“You’re right. See, the blurriness looks to be obscuring the fact there are antlers.

“Huh.” Barclay straightens, raising an amused eyebrow at the prose on the photo caption.

“Did you know moose swim like that as well?”

“No shit?”

“None” Stern shudders, “there are enough potentially terrifying things in the water; I don’t need to add moose to the list of things I might run into.”

“I guess they are pretty fucking big.”

“They’re megafauna that didn’t have the good sense to die off with things like giant ground sloths and terror birds.”

Now it’s Barclay’s turn to cringe, “God, giant birds scare the shit out of me. No way they don’t remember that they came from dinosaurs. They’re just waiting for the chance to go _Jurassic Park_ on us.”

“A very inaccurate film.”

“Tell me about it.”  
Stern smiles, glad someone agrees with him on that.

“No, I’m serious, tell me about it. You’re the one with the science background.” Barclay has the excited curiosity in his eyes that he always had during their coffee dates.

And so he explains, grabs another drink, and explains some more as they wander through the exhibits, pausing to trade professional opinions and ridicule Ned’s explanations for various cryptids and paranormal phenomena. 

At one point, he looks over to find Barclay giving him a very deliberate once over. Emboldened with liquid courage, he gives it right back. 

“Oh! Bluff Creek, that’s what it says.”

“Wh-oh, oh my shirt.” He’d picked the button up that, over the breast pocket, reads “Bluff Creek, Ca.” Barclay was reading it, not mentally undressing Stern while Stern was imagining him with his pants off. 

Shit.

He knocks back the rest of his glass.

“Yeah, it’s hella cool. Y’know, I’ve never actually been, even when I lived in California for a few years.”

“Really? It’s a, hic--excuse me--must-do for guys like us. Oh!” He grabs Barclay’s forearm, wobbling a little in his excitement, “we should go over the summer! We could write if off as a business expense, say it’s for research. Or we could go this weekend, I bet it would be less crowded.”

“Spontaneity? Who are you and what have you done with Joe?” Barclay teases, looping an arm around his waist.

“I, I’m plenty spontaneous. I’ll have you know I, I once went whitewater rafting on a dare with no gear and, and no preparation.”

“Damn, how'd that go?”

“I fell out and had to float to shore. Still fun though.”

“I’ll bet. C’mon daredevil, let’s get some food into you.”

Barclay turns them towards the main room and Stern leans against him all the way there.  
\----------------------------------------------

“Uh, Boyd? How strong did you make those?”

“‘Bout a normal amount. Your friends just been knockin’ ‘em back like water. “

Barclay glances at Stern, currently in a folding chair happily scarfing down the plate of food Barclay made him. 

“Guess he did drink a few, I wasn’t really counting.”

“Mmm, are there more of those mini-tarts, those, those were really ahshit.” Stern stands and then immediately sits back down, shaking his head with a little laugh, “I, um, heh, I think I might be a little drunk. I, um, I should call a cab.”

“Joe, we’re in Kepler, remember? There’s like two cabs here. Plus, didn’t you drive to the party?”

“Hm? Oh fuck, I did.”

“Here” Barclay holds out his hand, “if you give me your keys, I can drive you back.”

“But, but how will you get back?”

“I don’t mind the walk.”

Stern sets the keys (on a trans-pride bigfoot key-chain, of course) in his hand and let’s Barclay help him out to the car. Once they’re on the main drag, Barclay discovers a flaw in his plan.

“Uh, Joe, where am I going?”

“My house.”

“Right, but where’s that?”

“Take a, hic, a right, then two lefts, then go up a hill and around the curvy road.”

“This right?”

“No, ‘nother right.”

“Maybe just tell me your address?” He starts pulling his phone from his pocket.

“ 62 Winston way. No, wait, William way? Something with a ‘W.’”

“Hoo boy” he whispers, switching lanes “time for a change of plans. Gonna take you back to my place to sober up, okay?”

“Uhuh.”

Soon he’s pulling in front of his little A-frame one bedroom. It pays to move into a town when it’s still run-down, and to have a friend who’s really good at woodworking. He helps Stern out of the car, gets the house open with minimal fumbling and turns on the lights. 

Stern flops down on the couch as Barclay retrieves water from the kitchen. 

“I, hic, I like your house. S’cozy.”

“Thanks. Uh, you need anything else?”

“I'm kinda cold. Cardigan was a bad choice.”

“I’ll get the heater on.” 

It takes longer than normal when he finds the draft from the front door blew the pilot light out. By the time he gets back to the couch, Stern is nodding off. At this point, letting him sleep is the best bet, and Barclay knows that couch is murder to sleep on when you’re tall. 

“C’mon, one more trip, let’s go.”

Stern falls into his bed with painful ease, and Barclay takes all the images that inspires, crumples them up into a little ball, then lights that ball on fire. 

The other man is still with it enough to realize what’s happening, and so he pulls off his shoes and socks, tosses his cardigan after them, and tries to get beneath the covers. He gets stuck halfway, and so Barclay sits on the edge of the bed and finishes drawing them up.

“Bathroom's just through there if you need it.”

“Thank, hic, you. You’re so nice. Why are you always so nice to me?”

“Uh, I’m, uh, I try to be nice to everyone. Or at least, y’know, polite.”

“Think it’s, hic, because you’re such a big guy. Too much nice stored up in here.” He pokes Barclay’s chest, the clumsy gesture making them both laugh. 

Then the poke turns to a stroke, Sterns finger lazily curving along his chest.

“Shouldn’t be so nice to me. ‘M not nice back.”

“Nah, think I should.”

“ _No_.” Stern jabs him, “only, hic, only be nice to me if I deserve it.”

There’s too much in that sentence for him to process here on this bed, at one in the morning, with Sterns dark hair falling over his blue eyes and his whole hand now playing across his chest. 

“I, uh, I, I think you deserve it Joe. You do plenty of nice things. For the students, for me, for people you don’t even know.”

“Wha? Oh, the, hic, the lifeline. Forgot I told you about that.”

“Yeah, way back at one of the first times we had coffee.”

“Oh yeah.” Stern smiles, “I like having coffee with you. I like you.” His head falls against Barclays shoulder, and Barclay forces his fingers to stay on the bed because if he holds him, steadies him, if he so much as touches him he’ll just cling onto him until morning and that will fuck everything up.

“I like you too, Joe.” He says so softly he’s not certain Stern hears him.

“No you don’t. Not like I like you.”

Gingerly, he eases Stern back until his head is on a pillow.

“You oughta sleep. You’re already gonna have a rough morning, not sleeping enough won’t help you any.”

“Okay. G’night, Barclay.” Stern gives him a final smile before rolling onto his side. 

Once he’s turned off the light and shut the door, he moves through the kitchen, mechanically making himself a cup of tea. 

_Not like I like you_

At the start of the summer, he’d dreamed about such a confession, some hint that Stern felt the connection between them. Yes, them being coworkers still posed a massive issue, but by then he’d been solidly head over heels for Joe. The confession never came, and whatever flirtation they’d danced on the edge of was replaced by the arguments, the prickliness, the knowledge that the other man was a threat to what they wanted.

Tonight, he’d gotten a glimpse of the past. Yes, Joe was drunk by the end, but for several hours there it was like old times, everything he loved about Joe highlighted by how much he’d missed the chance to appreciate it without worry. 

_Not like I like you_

His sigh is loud in the still house, “I guess we’ll never know.” 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------

Stern regrets his entire existence the instant he wakes up.

His stomach roils, his head pounds, and his mouth is too dry. Thank god someone left a glass of water and some painkillers on the nightstand next to him. 

Hold on. This isn’t his nightstand. It’s not his bed either. 

“Shit.” He sits up, wincing at the light creeping under the window curtain. Where is he, whose house-

He recognizes the stickers on the laptop on the desk nearby. Barclay. He’s in Barclay’s house, in his bed, shit, _shit_ , he remembers Barclay on the bed with him at some point. Did he, did they-

Looking down causes him to slump forward in relief. There’s no way he fucked his coworker and then put his slacks back on.

Gathering his things and pulling on his shoes, he sneaks down the hallway, hoping his host is still asleep. He spots several blankets folded up on the couch, and the outfit Barclay wore yesterday folded next to it.

“Morning.” The soft baritone drifts over from the kitchen, Barclay looking up from his coffee to smile shyly at him. 

“Good morning.” He’s stuck, his brain swinging rapidly between fear and affection, so when Barclay asks if he wants coffee all he can do is nod.

“I don’t have any cream, but I've, uh, got some condensed milk in here if you feel like something sweet.”

“That’s fine, thanks.”

When he still doesn't move, Barclay sets the mug on the counter closest to him. 

“Please don’t tell anyone about what happened?”

Barclay furrows his brow, “Happened? Joe, you just got a little drunker than probably meant to. You didn’t, like, do anything bad.”

“I didn’t say or do anything embarrassing?”

“I mean, you admitted to thinking fucking Bigfoot could be fun on the drive over here, but that wasn’t all that surprising. And you...no, that was it.”

Suspicion flashes through his veins, “You’re sure?”

“Yep. You were the usual you just, uh, chattier and less tidy.”

“I didn’t, say, do something that you could report to Hayes and use to edge me out for the job?”

“ _What?_ ” 

“That’s not an answer.”

“No, the answer is fucking no!” Barclay, concerned, stands and moves to reassure him. Stern steps back. 

“Why’d you bring me here?”

“Because you were so plastered you couldn’t give me directions to your house.”

“Why not let someone else do it?”

“Because you’re still my friend. Or, at least you acted like it last night and I wanted to be friendly back.”

“Why-”

“Nuh uh” Barclay holds up a hand, “if this is turning into the fucking Spanish Inquisition, I wanna know why you drank so much.”

“I was nervous. You make me nervous!”

Barclay glares at him, “That kinda sounds like a you problem, Joe. Fuck, why do you act like I’m some dickweed out to get you?”

“How can I know you aren’t?”

“By using your brain for two fucking seconds to think about how I actually act!” As soon as he raises his voice Barclay stops talking, takes several deep breaths, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t yell. I’m just...I’m really fucking hurt that you automatically assume I want to fuck you over rather than take care of you.”

He wants to accept the apology. He wants Barclay to hug him, to promise to keep taking care of him. His pride has other ideas. 

“Fine. I believe you about last night. Now where are my keys?”

Barclay blinks at him, disappointment--though which of them it's directed at, he can’t say--plain on his face. He simply points to a row of wall hooks by the door.

Stern grabs the keys and leaves without another word.


	3. Lesson Three: Be Honest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Indrid schemes. Stern explains. Barclay kneads.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content note: It is implied that Stern lost his job due to someone outing him as trans.

“Gettin the feelin’ our cunnin’ plan backfired.”

“Yep.” Aubrey sighs, pulling out her laptop. At the front of the room, Barclay and Stern are not even looking at each other, let alone talking pleasantly. At least their joint lecture on the influence of social media on the spread of urban myths doesn’t devolve into an argument, and for that Duck is grateful.

Thursday’s lecture, however, turns into a heated debate over the origins of a specific story, to the point no one can remember why the story was brought up in the first place.

“So, are we at the kidnapping them and forcing them to team-build stage yet?” Hollis asks during that night’s study session.

“There is a three day weekend coming up….”

“‘Drid.”

“I only meant that if something were to force contact between them, they would have ample time to work it out.”

“But what kind of contact? We already tried getting them to do a thing they liked together.” Dani twirls her highlighter between her fingers.

“Maybe somethin work related? Y’know, since it’s the thing they got most in common.”

“Precisely. We have the essay due next Thursday, right?”

“Yep.”

“Well then,” Indrid grins “I think a handful of us are about make an error when we turn it in.”

\---------------------------------------

_Joe: Indrid, Dani, Jake, and Hollis all left their essays in my stack rather than yours._

_Barclay: Shit. Can you drop them off?_

Given their last argument, and the tension in the office over the past two week’s, he’s half-expecting Stern to refuse. They’d promised the class the essays would be returned on Tuesday, and while he could do it early-early on Tuesday, that’d be cutting it close.

__Joe: Yes. Address?_ _

Once he’s sent the info, Barclay turns back to his cleaning. It’s part of his Saturday morning routine; get up, brew coffee, turn on his “ladies of blues” playlist, and do a basic clean of the house. It’s been pouring since last night, and for a moment he’s worried about Joe driving over here with the road so wet.

Fuck it. He’s a big boy. If he’s going to commit to assuming bad things about Barclay, the least he can do is drive a few miles in the rain.

 _S_ tern looks less put together than usual when he arrives. The jacket or sweater has been replaced by a hoodie, the slacks with well-worn jeans. His hair is damp and mussed, almost as if-

“Shit, did I wake you up?”

“Yes.” Stern holds out a plastic folder, then steps quickly inside when wind blows a massive burst of rain across the threshold, “I wanted to get this out of the way so it didn’t disrupt my plans.”

“Doing something fun?”

“Yes.”

It’s a lie. Joseph has an excellent poker face, but Barclay’s spent plenty of time in close quarters with him. He could call his bluff, but that’d be cruel. The poor guy looks tired, and as bad as things are between them he still cares about him.

“You want some coffee for the road? I, uh, I have cream this time.”

“Sure.”

Thunder rumbles and they both glance out the window. The dark clouds cast a perma-twilight across the wet road. A staticky screech cuts through the music and Barclay rushes to his laptop to shut it off.

“Uhhhh, so, uh, you might be here awhile.”

“What, why?” Stern comes up behind him, sees the screen telling them that a flash-flood warning is in effect until noon tomorrow and that a mudslide just blocked the main access road to Plover, Sandpiper, and Willet roads.

Stern lives on Willet Road.

“Shit.” Stern leans against the edge of the couch.

“I mean, there are worse places to get stuck.” Barclay says, trying to help.

“I can’t think of many.”

“Can- _fuck_ Joe, can you not even stand being polite to me anymore?”

“I’m, I’m sorry.” He runs a hand through his hair with a sigh, “I’m doing my best, alright?”

“Look, I know we both want the job. But at a certain point all we can do is try and be the best professors we can be, and let the decision be what it is rather than going after each other.”

“That’s easy for you to say.”

“No, it isn’t. I like my job. And, uh, more to the point I like having a fucking roof over my head.”

“You think I don’t!”

“I didn’t say that-”

“No, but it was implied. You could get a job anywhere in town, everyone loves you, the students love you, you’re intelligent and compassionate and you make me look like an overly-formal robot in comparison and that’s why you’ll edge me out no matter what I do!”

 _“I’ll_ edge _you_ out? On what planet does the super-competent, super-smart, painfully organized and unfairly engaging guy lose out to the guy who got all his degrees at community college and used to sleep in the back of his car? Are you really that insecure that you’ll come after me when I’m zero fucking threat to you?”

“Yes!”

“Bullshit, mister super-confident.”

“Yes, I’m confident in my job and practically nowhere else. My talents, my goals, my life fucking begins and ends with my work. If I lose it, I lose everything. You have so much more going on. This, this is all I have” the fight goes from his posture but his nails stay dug into his palms. “I don’t even have any plans today. I’m going to sit in my room and watch T.V alone, like always.”

The sympathy that wells up at that statement loses out to the fact he's still pissed.

“How is any of that my fault?”

“Because you’re making this harder than it should be! Because if you were a worse person I could just not trust you, but instead I’m going to like you and trust you and then it’ll bite me in the ass like last time!”

“Well if that’s how you feel, give me back my fucking sweatshirt!” Barclay growls, points at Stern’s chest, and the other man looks down with visible horror at what he’s wearing.

“And what the fuck do you mean ‘last time?’ You haven’t even been here two years.”

The horror remains as Stern looks back up at him, and suddenly he’s looking at his back.

“N-nevermind. It didn’t happen here. And since we’re making demands, stop brewing French Roast, I hate it.”

Confusion slips ahead of the anger, “..........what? But, uh, but I got it because I thought you liked it.”

Stern turns back, perplexed.

“The, uh, the day we met, it was the coffee you had going when I got into the office. I assumed that meant you liked it.”

“It was leftover in the fridge; I just didn’t want to be wasteful. That’s why I put the Amnesty Blend in there at the start of the semester. We both like it.”

“Oh. Uh, I assumed you saved that for special occasions because it’s so good.”

For a moment all they can do is stare at each other. Then Barclay chuckles, which turns to a full laugh when Stern does the same. Soon they’re both doubled over, overcome with their shared absurdity.

“Lord, we’ve both been such dipshits, haven’t we?”

“You’ve been spending too much time around Duck.”

“Hey, it’s a useful term.” Stern wipes his eye with the heel of his palm. Barclay clears his throat, afraid that if he moves too soon, he’ll crush their chances of fixing things.

“I, um, I dated someone at my last job. He was in the admin office.” Stern’s eyes trail along the kitchen counter as he speaks, “it was really nice, at first. But he got a bit controlling, and I called things off. He, um, he retaliated by outing me, used the fact he had access to everyone’s family contacts and all the higher ups emails to make sure the right people found out. I’d been there for three years, with incredibly positive feedback. They let me go, no formal reason was given but, well, when you’re a private school and your top donors are highly evangelical, one teacher is a logical sacrifice to make.”

“Oh, Joe.” Out of habit Barclay opens his arms, and to his shock Stern steps into them as he continues his story.

“Kepler was one of the few places I felt certain the same thing wouldn’t happen.”

“Because it’s full of old-school hippies?”

“Yes.” A smile against his shoulder, “I think I could be happy here, but I’m terrified of the past repeating itself. I’m...I’m sorry. I should never have taken that out on you.”

“And I shoulda spoken up about some things sooner, maybe not taken certain things personally. I’m sorry too.”

“Can we start over? Please?” Stern, still in his arms, looks up with those clear blue eyes and Barclay will do whatever he wants.

But, as they’ve learned the hard way, it helps to clarify.

“How do you mean?”

“Can we go back to how we were last year? Try to stay friends even though one of us will lose out to the other at the end of the semester.”

“Think I can handle that.”

Stern’s arms tighten around him, “Thank you.”

He doesn’t want to let go. He should probably let go, but he needs a way to show Stern he cares about him.

“You hungry?”

“Starving.”

Barclay makes them fancy scrambled eggs and toast from his leftover homemade bread, and when he’s done Stern has managed to light the small fireplace for bonus ambiance (“I may be a city boy at heart, but I’ve had to start plenty of fires out in the field”).

They pass the day reading and talking, Barclay using this as a chance to show off his fancy-coffee making skills. They even watch Saturday Night Dead, Ned’s public access show, and gleefully heckle Monster on Campus. Barclay’s not entirely sure who falls asleep first, only that when he wakes up Sunday morning, he’s nestled on top of Stern.

When the roads are finally clear, Stern heads home. Barclay tells him to keep the sweatshirt. After all, it looks better on him.

\-------------------------------------------------------------

Duck is conflicted; on the one hand, it seems their plan somehow worked. He’s here for office hours, and Joseph keeps smiling in Barclay’s direction when he thinks Duck can’t see.

On the other hand, he owes Indrid five bucks.

On the other, other hand, he can probably buy him five bucks worth of fruit gushers and that’ll work just as well. Especially if he lets him eat them off certain body parts.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------

“Argh, how is this still not working?” Stern tries once again to flip the dough without it breaking, only for it to tear in half.

“Here, lemme see, might just need to knead it longer to build up the gluten.” He sets down the knife he’s using to slice rhubarb and moves down to Stern’s spot at the counter.

It’s the Friday before spring break and they’re spending it--like every Friday since they patched things up--cooking and grading papers. Barclay’s impressed; Joe is pretty damn good in the kitchen, his tendency to be thorough and organized making him an excellent assistant.

Plus, last week he taught Barclay to make Korean short-ribs. Barclay spent the remainder of the night imagining what it would be like to lick the sauce they made off of Stern’s chest. Yes, he knows it’d be sticky, but goddamn would it be fun.

“Here, try doing it like this.” He steps directly behind Stern, set’s a hand on top of each of his. Guides them in the movements he’s done a million times, feels Stern tense and then relax against him.

From here he can smell soap and cologne (Stern may be the only guy he knows who wears it), Sterns breathing even and shallow, his body lean and--from the few times his shirt’s ridden up as he was pulling a sweater off--temptingly defined. When he has to step closer to adjust their grip, he’s suddenly very glad he can’t get noticeably hard.

“See, that gets it where it needs to be real fast.”

“You’re right. Hm, guess I do knead you. Get it, like-” Stern looks back at him, playful expression fading into something shyer, lips staying hungrily parted even after he finishes, “need you.”

“Uh, aw, uh, it just takes a little practice is all. You’ll catch on.” Reluctantly he pulls back, “can you slice that into strips like we did for the one a few weeks ago?”

“You got it, big guy.”

The nickname slips out so casually he doesn’t notice it until he’s chopped another stalk of rhubarb. It’s too late for a flirty comeback, Stern already cleaning up the surrounding counter. So he tucks them away for later, praying he might gets another chance to use them.

\---------------------------------------------------------

“Is this the origin of shaky cam?”

“Could be.” Barclay adjusts the volume on the T.V, “God, can you imagine if we took our students on something like this?”

“I trust at least half of them to respond well to the Fouke Monster rather than with useless screaming.” Stern adjusts the blanket in his lap, grabbing a cookie from the plate between them.

They’re sitting on the floor watching Boggy Creek Two: The Legend Continues with all the lights off. Stern is even wearing his “Fouke MonsterMart” shirt, and Barclay keeps scooching closer to him at every (badly shot) jump scare.

Earlier, they’d gone through the box Stern brought that contained souvenirs from all his cryptid-themed travel. Barclay had insisted on seeing it as soon as he learned it existed (“Barclay, no one wants to hear me ramble about this” “oh but I do babe” “what was that-” “BUD, I said bud”).

“You telling me you wouldn’t be a little freaked out if some Bigfoot-type cryptid came out of the trees at you?”

“It would startle me, but I firmly believe that kind of cryptid would be friendly as long as it wasn’t threatened.”

Barclay picks up the small, stuffed bigfoot form the box, walking it through the air towards Stern, “Watch out Joe, it might get you.”

“Oh no, whatever will I AHtickles, tickles” he laughs when Barclay rubs his neck with the fuzzy toy while making a comically bad growl, “that’s not all that menacing.”

Barclay growls again, low and predatory. Stern inhales sharply, transfixed, screen throwing blue light across his face.

“That menacing?”

“I, um, that’s, that’s not the word I’d use.”

He let’s his voice stay in it’s natural baritone, adds a hint of growl as he grins, “Like I said, be careful; might just get you.”

“I can think of far worse things.”

Barclay lunges with a snarl, knocking Stern back and pinning him down. He dives down to nip at his shoulder, growling all the while. When Stern bares his throat, he licks a stripe up it, stopping when he realizes this could all be too much for the man beneath him.

As he’s thinking, Stern threads his fingers into his hair and yanks him down into a kiss, moaning when their lips meet.

He’s lost. Or, rather, he loses it.

There’s a muffled, excited “Mpph” as he hooks Stern’s leg around his own, his mouth moving from lips to cheek to throat and back again as if he could devour all of Stern at once. His hands have forgotten finesse and he tugs at the hem of Stern’s shirt even as Stern tries to unbutton his flannel.

“Joe, babe, fuck, _fuck_ , I’ve wanted this for close to a fucking year.”

“Good, that means we’re even, now for the love of god please take your shirt off, I can’t make my fingers work.”

“Aw, someone nervous.” He takes Stern’s hand, kisses each knuckle sweetly before flipping his hand over. Licking the palm, and biting it with a growl.

“Y-yes, but happy, so fucking happy Barclay please.” He sits up, throwing his arms around him for another kiss, Barclay climbing into his lap as it deepens.

His phone chooses this exact moment to ring. They both freeze, then he slowly reaches onto the couch and grabs it.

It’s Mama. She never calls this late.

“Hello?”

“Glad you’re up, long story short, some genius slammed into me when I was goin’ up the highway, and AAA can get the car to shop but not me back home.”

“Shit, are you okay?”

“Little bruised, had worse.”

“I’ll be right there, you north of town or south.”

“North.”

“Got it, hang tight.” He hangs up, looks at Stern with worry, “that was Mama, the truck just got totaled-”

“Oh my lord, is she alright? Does she need help?”

Barclay sighs, relieved by his reaction, “I’m gonna go pick her up. Will, uh, will you still be here when I get back?”

“I might be asleep, but yes.”

He leans forward, kissing one last time, “See you soon.”

Stern is, indeed, asleep by the time he gets back. So he scoops him up, sets him in bed, cuddles up next to him, and sleeps better than he has in ages.

\-----------------------------------------------------

If the two make-out sessions are anything to go by (even if they keep getting interrupted), the rest of Stern’s year is going to be incredible.

They’re also why, when Barclay shuts their office door as soon as Stern arrives the next Monday, he expects something very different than what he gets.

Barclay sets a hand on each shoulder, face solemn, “I wanted you to be the first to know. I’m, uh, I'm leaving.”


	4. Lesson Four: Decide What You Can Live With

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barclay explains. Aubrey cheers. Stern makes plans.

“The job, leaving the job!” Barclay adds quickly as Stern blanches.

“ _Lord almighty_ , don’t scare me like that.”

Sorry, thought it would be obvious since we’re at work.” Barclay rests their foreheads together as Stern giggles with relief, counts down the seconds until-

“Wait, you’re leaving the department?”

“Yep. I let Hayes know this morning.”

“But, your, your job, the money, Barclay if you’re doing this because of what happened last weekend I swear to god-”

“I’m not, promise.” He kisses him once, gentle and comforting, “I mean, it’ll make me a little more comfortable to not be dating my co-teacher, but I’ve been wondering if this is really what I wanna do with my life for awhile.”

“But you love teaching, and this subject matter. And you have one of the best teaching styles I've ever seen. ”

“Yeah, but I ended up here because I liked the topics and could get into the programs that eventually gave me the credentials to teach them. Need to survive kinda trumped the need to explore my career options. When I was younger, the other jobs I worked were all kitchens and I loved them, and for a long time I thought cooking could just be my hobby. But I like doing it more than anything in the world and, uh, and someone finally gave me a chance to do it.”

“Mama?”

“Nothing gets past you, does it babe?”

“Barclay, you’ve been helping out with the Lodge for months now.”

“Heh, yeah. When I gave her a ride a couple nights ago, she asked if I’d be interested in training under the current cook and taking over when he retires. I said yes.”

Stern looks him over carefully, “You’re sure this is what you want?”

“As sure as I can be given how, y’know, nothing is certain. But I do know that some risks are worth taking. Like kissing you that first time.” He brushes a finger tenderly along Stern’s jaw

“Then I’m so happy for you. Although I’m going to miss seeing you day in and day out.” Stern cups his cheeks, kisses him playfully.

“Hey, my schedule’s not gonna be any more fucked than it’s been teaching four courses plus the stuff at the rec center; you’ll still see me plenty. Not to mention you get the office to yourself. You can listen to cheesy, 90s pop without headphones.”

“Not another word, mister ‘Best of ABBA.”

Barclay gasps in faux-shock, “rude of you to rifle through my CDs when I wasn’t looking.”

“I can rifle through other things if you want.” He slips his hands into Barclay’s back pockets.

“Pfft, I’d ask if you’d always been this cheesy but the first day we met you made at least two bigfoot puns.”

“I didn’t you thinking I was some uptight jerk.”

“I’ve never thought you were a jerk, even if you did act like a dick sometimes.”

Stern smirks at him, “I notice you’re not contradicting the adjective.”

“So you can be uptight about certain things, big deal. Some things are worth being firm on. Besides, if you need help going with the flow, that’s what you have me for.”

“Do I need to remind you about the gel pen incident?”

“No, no you don’t.”

Another laugh, sharp and sparkling, “Alright. How about another kiss instead?’

“Y’know, I think I can live with that.”

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Barclay’s running a little late to the last class of the year. Their final exam was an essay, so attendance today is purely optional and they’re having a small party in place of a lesson. 

When he opens the door, he nearly drops the box of cupcakes he’s carrying.

“Surprise!” Yell a chorus of voices. 

A homemade banner in what is clearly Dani’s handwriting hangs above the projector screen, “Congratulations” spelled out in huge letters. The room is hastily and lovingly decorated, tables shoved together to hold the food his students brought. He spies a plate of the caramel brownies he taught Indrid to make last semester in his rec class. 

In the midst of it all stands Joe, looking pleased with himself. 

“This is why you texted me to stop for whipped cream, isn’t it?”

“Maybe.” Joe grins, takes the box from him, “it was actually their idea” he nods towards Dani, Aubrey, and Jake, “they wanted to give you a real send-off, and to say thank you for everything.”

Barclay sees Indrid stealthily pass Duck a card, which the shorter man proceeds to write in.

“Aw man, if they give me something all heartfelt and shit, I’m gonna tear up.”

“I think you can handle it, big guy.” Stern pecks him sweetly on the cheek. 

“WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Aubrey raises her arms in triumph, “I fucking called it! Pay up losers.”

“Wait, there was a bet going on? Did no one else see them kissing before office hours?” Indrid seems genuinely puzzled.

“You _what_?” Dani giggles, turning to him in surprise, “no, none of us saw that.”

“Ah, well, I didn’t say anything as I was uncertain if they were keeping it secret and well…” he points to his physically-incapable-of-lying boyfriend, who simply tugs him into a retaliatory bear hug.

Barclay ends up on the receiving end of a similarly loving _group_ hug at the end of the afternoon. 

“Y’all are gonna keep coming to my rec classes, you hear? Gonna miss you knuckleheads otherwise.”

“Uh, duh we are! Also we hang out at the lodge all the time, so now you’ll never be rid of us.” Aubrey hugs him tighter.

He hugs her back, “Think I can live with that.”

\----------------------------------

His first months are hectic, but he’s never been happier. He’s making delicious food for people, has a massive about of control of the menu, and no one is making him grade people. Life is better than he could ever have imagined.

The sight of Joe, shirtless in bed, only adds to that feeling. 

His boyfriend is surrounded by maps, his laptop is open in front of him, and there’s a pile of books on the nightstand, all with titles like _Unexplained Pacific Northwest_ and _Strange California._

“Uh, any room for me on there?”

“Hm? Oh, sorry, I thought you were taking a bath.” Joe swiftly and tidily folds up the maps, stacking them with the books. 

“Nah, I showered so I can spend more time cuddling my hot boyfriend.”

Joe’s whole upper body turns bright red. Barclay will never, ever, get tired of making him blush like that. 

“Got a route yet?” He tosses his towel back into the bathroom, takes his time putting on his pajama pants just so he can watch Joe struggle to form full sentences. 

“I, um, I, the tricky part is making the loop south efficient enough that we can see what need to without just spending every single moment in the car. Once I drop you back off up here so you can get back to work, the route zig-zags a lot more.”

“You excited?” He climbs under the covers, rests his head on Joe’s shoulder.

“So excited. If my writing on this trip goes well, I may finally be able to pitch my book about the origins of lesser-known cryptids.”

"Not sure Bigfoot counts, babe."

"We're going to Bluff Creek because you've never been, and I wouldn't deny the man I love a chance to recreate the Patterson-Gimlin footage. Plus, there's a diner there you will absolutely adore."

"Can't wait." Barclay begins kissing along his cheek, then pauses, "wait. You, uh, you love me?"

"More than I can say." Joe smiles at him, serious and affectionate in a way that is so distinctly him.

"In, uh, in that case, I love you too, Joe. So fucking much."

Joe draws him closer, and Barclay let's his head fall to rest on his chest, heartbeat steady and full of promise in his ears. 

"Well, what do you know; it seems we're in love." Joe murmurs, happiness in each syllable. 

Barclay gazes up at him with a smile, "Y'know babe, I think I can live with that."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading!


End file.
